


Uncharted Territory

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Angst and Feels, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex, Smut, Soul Bond, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ginny opens her eyes in a new bed, in a new life, in a new universe.Something is wrong, and she's only just beginning to understand the strange new world she's awoken in.
Relationships: Thorfinn Rowle/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 21
Kudos: 23
Collections: Tag(line) You're It! Competition





	Uncharted Territory

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "Don't disturb them. They already are"  
> (Running With Scissors)
> 
> **Trope:**
> 
> Wish Fulfillment
> 
> **Lifestyle Decision:**
> 
> APOCALPYSE  
> 
> 
> Big forever love and thanks to my wonderful Alpha/Beta! I couldn't have produced something like this without the support ❤️  
> Also Big forever love and thanks to admins FaeOrabel, Feelingofthesea and Firewhiskysoul and mods KoraKwidditch and WordsmithMusings for the amazing comp ❤️

Something wasn’t right. 

She could feel it when she awoke in the morning with a cracking headache, as if her brain was swollen in her skull. The windows were too large and let in too much light, so Ginny drew the curtains and summoned the house-elf to fetch any kind of potion that would help. 

Something wasn’t right.

She could feel it lingering into the afternoon when she wandered past the piano and felt compelled to sit down and play, as though she’d ever had any training in the instrument and could do anything but clumsily tinker a few dull notes. She wasn’t any good, and despite her novice, anger nipped at her fingers as she tried to follow the sheet in front of her. 

Something wasn’t right. 

She didn’t know how, but felt as though her soul had been put into her body wrong.

Ginny bit her tongue and sat in her room in front of the bright white vanity, wrinkling her nose at the thick layer of dust coating it. She opened the drawers and hummed quietly as she looked for a hairbrush, but she couldn’t find anything apart from an old broken mirror set in a faded silver box marked with  _ M.W.R _ .

With a disgruntled grimace, Ginny leaned back in her chair and looked at herself carefully. 

Something wasn’t right, and the more she rolled the thought in her mouth, the uneasier she became.

* * *

Thorfinn listened to the soft padding of feet across the marble floors of his ancestral home and tried to keep himself quiet as he sat by the fire.

He held his tongue as the sound traveled, and watched curiously as the long shadow of a woman’s figure paced on the floor, then disappeared down the long hallway into the music room. With a quick Disillusionment charm, he stood and followed the sound until he stood in the doorway and saw the shock of bright red hair. 

_ So this is what the kneazle dragged in… _

The girl looked familiar, but as Thorfinn watched her clumsy hands on the piano, he knew that this world was new to her. She’d never lived this life, perhaps never lived  _ any  _ life before today at all. 

He needed to be cautious, lest he frighten the stranger. She must feel entirely out of sorts, and he’d been advised to let her adjust before approaching her, to let her acclimatize to the world. From the sounds of the attempted music, she’d need all the time he could give her. 

He resolved to give her the day, and then meet her in the morning, though as he stepped closer and made his way around the piano, his brow raised. 

She was striking, frustration clouding her face.

When she finally rose from the piano and wandered back upstairs, Thorfinn didn’t follow her. He touched the stool she’d sat on and ran his fingers along the fading wood, a brief wave of nostalgia passing through him at the song she’d chosen to attempt. 

“Master Rowle,” a rickety voice spoke beside him. Thorfinn turned toward his house-elf, who wore a delicate three-piece suit. 

“Is she settled, Octin?”

The elf nodded. “She’s in your suite. I’ve given her a draught, but she seems peaceful enough, if not confused.”

Thorfinn huffed. “I’m sure suddenly existing must be disorienting.”

The elf shook its small head. “You never know, with this kind of magic. Who's to say you haven’t resurrected her?”

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes. “Are you calling my wife a corpse?”

The elf’s eyes widened. “Not at all, Master. Just reminding you that dark magic cares very little for the rules of men.”

The elf summoned a large book and handed it to Rowle, who held it by the spine without looking at it. It was all too familiar, being the book all proper Pureblood families owned that catalogued the ancestry of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

“I would know if she was in here,” Thorfinn stated gruffly, remembering his formative education. Pureblood Studies was in no way an official class, but his parents drilled it into him until he could recite 300 years of Rowle family ancestry, along with the basics of every family worth knowing. 

“Is there any chance the spell paired me with a half-blood?” Thorfinn’s nose wrinkled.

The elf shook his head. “You know the Dark Lord would never stand for such degradation in his court.”

Turning with a sigh, Thorfinn asked Octin for a glass of firewhisky and set himself to the task of scouring the book for any likeness of the woman in his bed. Choosing to proceed in alphabetical order, he began with the Abbotts, and spent nearly an hour combing through the pages for any sign of red hair. 

“Master, surely you remember the family known for their red hair.” Octin appeared beside him suddenly to stoke the fire. 

“My wife is not a Weasley,” Thorfinn said firmly. 

“There could be worse matches, Master.”

Thorfinn shook his head. “Not if I want to keep my head.”

“The Dark Lord can forgive a resurrected Weasley under the right circumstances.” The elf chuckled before snapping his fingers. The book in Thorfinn’s hands responded with whizzing pages until it stopped on the image of a large family tree filled with red-headed witches and wizards. 

“You better pray I don’t find her in this,” Thorfinn sighed, leaning in to squint at the small images.

“One thing you can be sure of, she’s up to the Dark Lord’s blood standards. Otherwise, the manor would have killed her already.”

Thorfinn nodded absently and paused over the image of Charles Weasley, frowning. 

“Octin,” he asked, and the elf looked up. “She looks quite like this Weasley boy, doesn’t she?”

The elf nodded over the boy’s face. “She does, though I wasn’t aware the Weasleys had any daughters. None have been recorded in generations. Perhaps she’s an ancestor of his, if indeed she has existed before. Could you ask any of them?”

Rowle shook his head, distracted. “The last Weasley was executed years ago.”

Thorfinn pursed his lips and stared at the boy, almost willing him to pry himself from the pages.

“Of course, if you think she’s been born of dark magic, the resemblance is purely coincidence.” Octin eyed the large man, amusement twinkling under his spectacles.

Thorfinn felt his face sour as he regarded his elf. “If she’s been  _ created  _ for me, I doubt she’d be carved out of Weasley genes,” he grumbled resentfully. “Whoever she is, I suspect she’ll start to remember soon.”

“You don’t trust your magic to keep her unaware?” 

Thorfinn sighed, his fingers raising to scratch at his beard. “I don’t trust myself to not want to meet her.”

“Need I remind you that the Dark Lord will be expected any day now to meet her?”

“Obviously I won’t try anything before He meets her. We’ll wait until He’s gone, then ease her into it. Seems the easiest way, doesn’t it?”

Octin grinned for a moment, concealing it under a small bow. “Then we must task ourselves to discovering where she’s been pulled from before she figures it out for herself. You must keep a sharp eye on her, Master Rowle. She’ll be clever. Your one true match is probably as stubborn and hot-headed as you are. Don’t underestimate her.”

Rowle paused and turned a withering look at the elf. “You forget your place.”

“And you snapped your fingers for a soulmate, to procure a suitable heir for the Dark Lord. We both have our flaws, it would seem.” Thorfinn glared at his elf, and Octin took that as his cue to leave.

The book laid open on the Weasley family for the next two hours as Thorfinn ran his thumb across every red-headed woman, and still, he could not find her. Anxiety chewed at his insides with each passing minute, an odd ringing in his ears building the longer he looked.

He’d only performed the spell to please the Dark Lord. Though he knew it was possible, he hadn’t meant to pull someone from their life without consent.

* * *

Ginny crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, still staring at her face in the mirror. 

It was a dark evening, and she could hardly see herself anymore in the reflection.

“Octin,” she called out, and the house-elf appeared beside her. 

“Yes, Mistress Rowle?” he asked. Ginny raised her left hand to stare at the glimmering ring on her wedding finger.  _ So I’m married then…  _ She recognized the surname Rowle, but the only Rowle she’d ever heard of was a Death Eater. She narrowed her eyes at the ring.

“Have you seen my wand anywhere?” she asked curiously, her voice strained.

“I haven’t, Mistress,” he bowed slightly, eyeing her from under his spectacles and heavy brows. “Would you like me to ask your husband?”

Ginny smiled tightly. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

“Can I get you anything? You’ve hardly eaten today.”

“Some tea, if you might be so kind.” Ginny tried to smooth her worried expression as she worked the ring around her finger.

The elf nodded and turned from her, taking a single step toward the door. 

“Octin,” she called out, and she stood as he turned, almost embarrassed at her intrusion, but this very morning she could not remember her own last name, and now she could. This morning she’d tried to play piano. This morning she’d had years of memories that didn’t fit. This morning she’d awoken in a different life.

He raised his eyebrows in question, his face neutral and observant. She could feel him absorbing her every movement, her every expression, her every tremor.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” he asked softly. 

Ginny bit her lip and looked at him. 

“Thorfinn Rowle,” he answered the voiceless question, and Ginny felt the ghost of a nickname on her lips - a name she’d awoken pining for. “A good master for 24 of his 26 years.”

“And the other two?” she asked.

“Teenage boys are rarely desirable company,” he responded, and Ginny nodded, a deep sigh exhaling from her lips. “Would you like me to send him up to you?”

She shook her head, grimly looking back at her reflection. “Don’t disturb him now. He’s disturbed enough on his own already. Do I have clothes?”

Octin snapped, and an armoire on the other end of the room opened. 

“Go easy on him,” the elf chuckled in the doorway. “His last few surprises haven’t been good ones.”

Ginny approached the clothing and ran her fingers against the rich fabrics. “Neither have mine,” she whispered, gripping a white lacy nightgown.

Something wasn’t right, but Ginny knew how to get the upper hand.

She always did. With any luck, her new  _ husband _ would soon find himself at the end of his own wand.

* * *

Thorfinn stood at the foot of the bed and grumbled at the witch lying on  _ his  _ side. He hadn’t figured this would be something he’d have to deal with from his soulmate, and it worked his brows into a furl.

“Hmmm,” she hummed as he removed his shirt, and his breathing caught as the moonlight through the window shone over her. 

She was wearing something small and lacy - he could almost see right through it, and the roundness of her breasts immediately sent blood rushing down to his groin. 

He readjusted his trousers and took a step back. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” she breathed, and Thorfinn’s chest squeezed unexpectedly. 

He didn’t know what to say; he’d thought she was sleeping. He hadn’t yet heard her voice, and his pulse thumped in his wrists. He could almost hear it in the absence of his response. 

“Where do you want me to be?” he asked cautiously. 

She sat up then, and one of the straps of her nightgown slipped down her shoulder. “You know where I want you.” She bit her lip, her hand sliding from under the sheets to the space beside her. 

“I’m not sure if I should,” Thorfinn responded. In a few days when he woke her up, she would despise him if she knew he’d been with her like this, wouldn’t she? 

“Please,” she whined, her voice dripping across his skin, lighting him with shivers. 

With a small sigh, Thorfinn approached the bed and put his arms down on either side of her, leaning in to push himself over her. But as he shifted, she squirmed and pushed her pelvis against his and hooked a leg over him. 

Thorfinn winced in discomfort as he held himself steady above her. 

“Octin tells me you’ve had quite the day,” he tried, but the moonlight lit her face and he gulped at the sight. Her hair was a dark flame around her, and he was drawn to her like a moth. 

“Care to make it better?” Her voice was seductive, but he could hear a tone of bleakness under it. It reminded him of his own voice, and he couldn’t resist the grin that crept across his face at the comparison. She was just as fucked up as he was, and he wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. To be honest, right at this moment, he couldn’t imagine it mattering less.

“Don’t tempt me, witch.” He stared into her eyes, suddenly remembering that he didn’t even know her name.

Thorfinn stiffened and pushed himself up. He crossed his arms as she shifted to lean against her elbows, staring up at him. Her eyes reflected the moonlight, and Thorfinn saw the darkness in them matching her voice. 

“Tell me what to call you.” His voice demanded roughly. 

“Call me by my name,” she challenged, staring him in the eyes with a touch of venom in her response. Thorfinn raised a hand quickly and caught her by the neck, pushing her into the pillows behind her. She let out a shocked squelch at the movement, but she raised her pelvis again to tease him. He leaned forward, his breath dancing across her skin. 

“Tell me what to call you,” he growled, his other hand ghosting down over her nightgown. It was so close he could almost feel the heat of her skin beneath it, and the fabric tickled his fingers as she squirmed to meet his hand, but he kept it just out of her reach. 

Her eyes narrowed as he lowered himself again to whisper in her ear. She didn’t even hear the words he spoke over her quiet whimpers, but she could feel his breath against her. 

Thorfinn decided that he didn’t care if he knew her name or not. 

This was his wife, was it not? And what would the Dark Lord think if he arrived and discovered he hadn’t even bothered consummating the dark magic he’d enacted?

If she woke up in a few days and hated him, at least there would be a reason. 

It was to protect her. It was to keep her safe. It was to keep them both safe. 

Thorfinn pulled the sheets from above her as she squirmed free of the tangled fabric; reaching for his shoulders and pulling herself closer to him. He took her in one arm and raised her, and she instantly locked her legs around him. 

“Fucking witch,” he whispered as she bit his neck, and he braced his hands against the headboard. 

“Take your trousers off this instant,” she demanded and Thorfinn bit his tongue. 

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he asked as she moved back slightly to watch him unbuckle his belt. 

“Don’t you still find it endearing?” she teased, seductively pulling the hem of her nightgown up her thighs, opening her legs slyly and beaming smugly when Thorfinn growled deeply. 

“Have I ever?” he asked, standing to slide the trousers onto the floor. 

“Come now, Thor,” she whispered, raising her legs to hook her toes against his boxers, pulling him closer. “It’s what you like best about me. Or have you been lying this whole time?”

Thorfinn gulped at her words, and raised his thumb to his lower lip as she pulled at him insistently. “I can definitely see why it would be my favourite thing.”

“Do you know my favourite thing about you?” she asked, pulling his boxers down with her toes. Thorfinn could peek a glimpse of her upper thighs in the direct view of the moonlight. 

He almost found words to respond with, but before he could, she sat up suddenly and pulled him down onto her, then rolled over until she was straddling his hips.

“Your honesty,” she continued, not needing a response from him. “You’d never lie to me. Right, Thor?” Her sharp nails grazed his chest as she teased her hips above his. 

“So honest, aren’t you?” and Thorfinn could hardly stand it. He gripped her thighs tightly and pulled her nightgown up, her heat immediately centered over his. He felt a short push against his chest as she leaned against him and then slid herself down onto him, and he nearly bit through his tongue. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, and squeezed his hands around her waist firmly, enough that there would surely be bruises the next morning. “You’re bloody perfect.”

“I know.” She smiled, quickly finding the rhythm of rising and falling. Her body rocking against him quickly was the most exquisite thing he’d ever experienced, and he momentarily thanked whatever magic considered them equals. 

Thorfinn’s toes curled as he readjusted the balls of his feet, and with the new angle she gasped, her arms falling forward to grip the headboard in a mirror of Thorfinn’s earlier movement. He held her still as her core clenched around him and her stomach muscles tensed, and he slowly withdrew before thrusting his hips forward, crashing against her roughly. The sound was obscene, and his tongue peeked from between his teeth as he initiated a furious pace. 

The slapping sounds echoed in the large room, and Thorfinn watched her face in the shadows as the moon sat heavy on the horizon just outside the window. 

She made hardly any noise, her eyelids clenched together. They were squeezed so tight he almost wondered if her eyes would fall inside her skull and disappear entirely, but in a small shift, she opened them and gasped sharply, searching for the ceiling. 

“Look at me,” Thorfinn instructed, and a deep breath shuddered through her as he continued his pace. 

She didn’t look down to him, and Thorfinn grabbed one of her hands and pulled her down, rolling her over beneath him and thrusting into her again. She groaned loudly in this angle, a deep guttural noise that stained his thoughts, and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

Then Thorfinn surprised himself by grabbing her chin with one hand and pulling it toward him until her lips met his. Dazed, she made a startled sound as she adjusted to the new demands. 

The kiss felt like a strange tune in him, something indescribable. It felt like the strings, the very fabric of the universe, were shackling himself to the girl he still didn’t know the name of. 

It was a startling moment, and he let himself be completely absorbed by it. He slowed and narrowed his elbows aside her face to hold the back of her head in one hand, gently, carefully, and she let her legs hang on either side of him, her chest heaving. 

It rose and fell under him, and under the transparent white nightgown, he could see a flush of pink colour her skin, tinging her freckled body.

“Thor,” she whispered, and he raised his head to meet her eyes. 

His brows furled. “You’re crying?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I just - did you feel that too?” her voice shook, warbled, and she bit her lip. 

He nodded. 

“What was it?” she whispered.

Thorfinn buried his face in the crook of her neck where it met her shoulder. 

“The soul bond, I think,” he began. “I’ve read something about it somewhere.”

“Soul bond?” she asked, her expression confused. “You and I… we’re soulmates?”

Thorfinn straightened himself above her. 

“Do you not believe in them?” he asked, his expression mirroring hers. 

She shook her head. “You can’t be my soulmate,” she breathed, and she bit her lip before looking him in the eyes. “I don’t even know you.”

The blood in Thorfinn’s ears ran dry, an eerie silence enveloping him.

“Excuse me?”

She winced. 

“You don’t know me?”

She shook her head lightly in his hands.

“Are-” he whispered. “You’re here, aren’t you? I didn’t lift-”

“What did you do?” she asked, her eyes wide and staring at him.

“I-”

“ _ What did you do, Rowle?” _

His face flushed and he pulled himself from her, putting distance between them. “I wished for my soul’s equal. I found a spell, but I didn’t expect you to wake up yet-”

“I see,” she breathed, her head falling back as she laughed depressingly. “Did you not think your perfect match would equal you in strength?” Ginny snorted, holding a pillow in front of her. “You’re a moronic dolt if you didn’t think this one through,  _ husband _ .”

“Precisely.  _ Husband.  _ Know your place, darling,” he growled deeply, his voice like sandpaper against her skin.

“Fuck you,” she spat. “You don’t even know my fucking  _ name _ .”

“Should I?”

“YES. Because you  _ STOLE ME.” _

“Well I’ve looked through every red-haired pureblood in the book and all I can tell is that you’re probably a pathetic Weasley.”

“My name is _Ginny,”_ she hissed. “And we are _not_ _pathetic._ ”

“Listen,” he glowered over her, backing her into a corner. “The Dark Lord will be here any day now, and he’s expecting a perfectly docile bride, not a bratty Weasley. I don’t have time to explain to you who he is, but-”

Her eyes widened as she pulled the pillow closer to herself, arms wrapping around it tightly. 

“Lord Voldemort?” she hissed, taking a step back from him. “He’s alive?”

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes. “You know of him?”

“Know of him?” She scoffed. “I wish I killed him myself. But I’ll tell you what,” she approached him, a dark shadow over her angry face. “I fucked the brains out of the man who  _ did _ kill him.”

“I presume you’re referring to the Potter boy?” Thorfinn spat at her, snatching for the pillow in front of her. 

“His  _ name _ ,” Ginny pulled away, “is  _ Harry, _ and it was the best shag of my life.”

“That’s a fucking joke,” Thorfinn muttered deeply, biting his lip. “You felt exactly what I felt back there. You know, I felt guilty for a moment when I thought I’d stolen you from some peaceful afterlife, or some innocent universe. I thought you to be a little dove.”

“And now that you’ve met me?”

“A whore,” he tried to snatch the pillow again, and this time he caught it, tearing it from her hands and leaving her to ball her fists in anger.

“And you’re a monster. What a pair,” she glowered at him, her voice sickly in his stomach.

“A monster would toss you at the Dark Lord’s feet and laugh as he fed you to Nagini.”

“Is that my fate, then?” she raised her voice, a faint buzzing electrifying her words. “Torn from one life only to be eaten by the bloody snake Neville beheaded?”

“Obviously I don’t want to feed my soulmate to a bloody snake!” he shouted back, the lines in his face feeling more and more pronounced. She’d probably make his hair turn grey if he kept her around for another week. 

“A monster can do much less and still be a monster,” she retorted, swallowing the lump of terror stuck in her throat. It burned through her skin and she felt she was at risk of being sick all over the floor, but weakness did not suit her, she remembered. 

“Can I remind you that you initiated everything last night? I was going to wait-”

“Undo the spell,” she demanded. She stood straighter and stared him in the eyes, and he turned away.

“It’s too late for such dramatics now.”

“ _ Dramatics?” _ Ginny screached, her body itching to dive for his wand. “You  _ stole me _ !”

“You should thank me,” he stepped closer to her, his still-shirtless chest close enough for Ginny to flush at the reminder of last night. “You got a good shag out of it, didn’t you?”

Ginny wiped at her face of the sweaty sheen that had developed. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a weathered gasp, and when she pulled her sleeve away, her chest heaved and a loud sob cracked out of her.

Thorfinn dropped the pillow and took another step forward, but Ginny held her hands out. 

“ _ Do not, _ ” she choked out, her breathing quickening.

Thorfinn stopped and looked down at his hands for a moment, eyes lingering on the Dark Mark that stained his arm. In a small gesture, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, allowing her to better cover herself with the thin fabric of her nightgown.

He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to step forward, wrap her in his arms.

“Isn’t there someone you’d kill for?” Thorfinn asked suddenly, softer than Ginny expected, and she shuddered. 

“Too many, I’m afraid.” 

“Can’t you see that we’re not so different, then? That I’m not some heartless beast?”

She swallowed deeply as she chose her words.

“It’s not the same, Thor,” she said gently, and his ears thought they were mistaken. “You hurt people who couldn’t protect themselves-”

“You don’t know how my parents died,” his voice was quiet, barely audible at all in the midst of her heart beating loudly in her ears. 

“I can guess,” she said, her breathing slowing as she gained a small bit of control. She thought back to Draco and Lucius Malfoy and the lengths the Dark Lord would go to in his paranoia. “He killed a lot of people.”

Thorfinn raked his fingers through his long hair, his stomach churning.

“I take it you’re no gifted Occlumens?” he asked hopefully, eyes glancing up to watch her through his thick curtain of hair.

Ginny bit her lip and shook her head. “Pretty shit at it, I’m afraid.”

“I can’t keep him out of your head,” Thorfinn whispered, seating himself on the side of the large bed. He looked out the window and chewed anxiously on his lip.

“You won’t need to,” Ginny responded quietly, picking up the pillow from the floor and holding it in front of her. She awkwardly sat beside him on the bed and put a careful hand over his. 

“Reverse the spell,” she pleaded. “If you send me home, Octin can obliviate this whole thing for you once I’m gone. It will be like it never happened.”

Thorfinn looked away from her and stood, pulling his hand from hers. He touched his forehead to the large window and watched the morning fog rising over the gardens.

“And what’s stopping Octin from obliviating you of your first life?” he asked, unsure of how he wanted her to respond.

Ginny’s brows pulled together for a moment as she thought. 

“Do you really want a corpse for a wife?” She asked softly, her voice weak and threatening to break under her again.

Thorfinn stared at the ring on his finger. It had been his father’s, handed down for generations. He thought of his mother’s ring on Ginny’s finger. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could almost remember the day she sat him on his bed in this very room and told him it would be his to propose with someday. 

He tried to hear her voice in his head. 

It was a useless endeavor, the memory never close enough and the pensieve too distorted, but the words she’d said rang in his ears, and all he could think was that he’d never proposed to Ginny Weasley. He hadn’t even known her name when fate slipped it on her finger.

“I have no clue how to send you home,“ he finally spoke, reluctantly. “-and the Dark Lord will kill us both if he takes one peek inside you as you are now.” He exhaled heavily, his head feeling light and airy all of a sudden. He brought a hand to his forehead and found it clammy. 

Warm breath tickled his arm, and he glanced over to see her standing beside him.

“You said he’d be here any day now,” she began, and her voice sounded more steady this time. “If you help me get home, I’ll let you, and only you, obliviate me while he’s here.”

“You’d trust me to not keep you under a spell?”

“I trust you to not be able to,” Ginny smirked slyly and held out her pinky finger, curling it suggestively.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Thorfinn asked. 

“I’ve got plenty of ideas,” she winked, “but first, hook your pinky finger with mine.”

“Is this some old magic?”

Ginny nodded, still smirking. “It’s called a pinky swear, and from this day forward, whatever happens, we handle together. Wherever we go, we go together. You have to swear it.”

“You’d let me follow you to your world?” he asked, his voice rough. 

“I imagine breaking a soulbond is quite terrible.” She paused for a moment and looked away from him. “I hardly know you, but I trust in magic.”

“Dark magic?”

“ _ Soul _ magic,” she corrected.

“I can’t guarantee there’s a way back.”

“I can’t guarantee Voldemort won’t see right through us. I’m willing to try.”

“You’ll need a wand.”

“My great-grandmother’s chose me back home. If she lived here as well, it would be in the Prewett vaults. Fancy a trip to Gringotts?”

Thorfinn smirked, nodding at the suggestion. “Of all people to show up in my life...:” he murmured, lifting a finger to touch her hair. “Fate had to send me a  _ fucking Weasley.”  _


End file.
